Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

May, Year 1

Monte Carlo, Monaco

Monaco at night always looked like it had been designed by someone who’d never once needed to find a normal parking spot in their life.

It glittered with intent—yachts stacked like floating penthouses, balconies dripping with warm lighting, the harbor water catching every reflection and turning it into something expensive-looking.

The streets were still loud even after dinner, because Monaco really didn’t do ‘quiet’, it just did less noise in an incredibly specific way. 

Sebastian decided to take a walk anyway.

He’d spent three hours at a grid dinner with other men pretending they weren't all vibrating at slightly different frequencies of competitive insanity, and if he didn't move his body soon, he was going to start tapping his fork against the table like a metronome, 

Drivers' dinners were always a special kind of purgatory.

Not the bad kind, exactly—there were worse things on race weekends—but it was still a little performative.

Smile here, nod there, laugh at the same joke you’d heard in three accents. Pretend the conversation about ‘how’s the season?’ wasn’t secretly everyone doing math about everyone else. 

He cut down a narrower street, up a few steps, and away from the worst of the foot traffic. 

The air changed, less four figure cologne, more sea salt and a little exhaust—because obviously Monaco believed expensive engines also deserved rights.

His phone felt warm in his hand, like it had been waiting for permission.

Which was a little silly seeing as it was a phone. Phones didn't wait, they didn't even have opinions. 

Yet his thumb hovered like it did.

He checked the time.

Not too late for him, but he’d learned Kimi’s schedule the way he tended to learn breaking points—not obsessively.

No.

Just…precisely.

Midday in Colorado meant Kimi would either be done with morning practice or in that limbo after, where the locker room chaos turned into shower steam and ‘i’m need to eat something before i cease to exist,’

Seb hit call before he could turn it into a dramatic internal committee meeting inside his skull.

The line rang.

Once.

Twice—

“Yeah?” Kimi answered, voice low and solid, like he’d picked up with his shoulder and a shrug.

Sebastian’s chest did that thing it had been doing lately—warmth arrived first and his brain only received the memo after.

“Hi,” he said, immediately amused with himself because that sounded like he was calling someone’s mother. “I’m walking.”

There was a pause that felt like a smile happening somewhere else.

“In Monaco,” Kimi said.

“Yes,” Seb replied, because he couldn’t resist. “In Monaco. I’m saying it with my full chest.”

“I can hear it,” Kimi said dryly, but no less amused.

In the background, something clattered—metal on tile, maybe a bottle being set down. The distant murmur of voices echoing in a big building.

“You’re outside.” Kimi added. 

“Obviously,” Seb said. “I’m avoiding my hotel room because if I lie down right now I'll wake up tomorrow as a fossil.”

“You go on track tomorrow.”

“I know,” Seb made a face at the night sky like it had personally scheduled his life. “That’s why this is a stupid choice. But also dinner was—“

“Bad?”

Seb snorted. “Not bad, Just very…driver-y.”

“Driver-y?.”

Seb turned a corner and found himself facing a row of parked cars so expensive they probably cost the same amount as his first contract.

He lowered his voice automatically, like he might offend one of them.

“It went how they usually do.” he said. “Too many people acting like they don’t care. Everyone pretending they’re not listening to everyone else’s tone when they say ‘the car feels good’. Someone told a story about a near miss at the hairpin like it was a funny story instead of a confession.”

“Is that not normal?” Kimi asked, like he was stating the weather. 

“It is—until someone tried to make me eat something that came from the bottom of the ocean.” Seb winced. “I swear I've never seen anything like it before.”

Kimi made a sound that was either sympathy or judgement—both equally possible.

“Did you?” he asked.

Seb glanced out at the harbor—yachts, lights, all warm and smug, glowing with money.

“No.” he said, proud. “I’m not a sea creature. I’m a normal person who would like to keep his tastebuds intact.”

“Debatable.”

Seb laughed—too loud—then covered his mouth when a few girls in expensive dresses gave him an odd look.

He angled away, still grinning, though. “Okay fine. But, it looked like it was going to climb out and file a complaint if I touched it.”

Kimi’s breath came through the speaker, a small laugh that Seb felt right in the center of his chest, 

Like it went there on purpose.

He shifted the phone to his other hand, thumb rubbing the edge of the case like he needed something to do with the extra hum of it all.

“What are you doing?” he asked, casual, or at least, tried to be. “Lunch? Post-practice? Are you committing crimes?”

“No crimes,” Kimi said, “Team things.”

“Team things,” Sen repeated, delighted. “That’s totally not ominous.”

“It’s not ominous.”

“It’s always ominous when you say it.” Seb insisted. “Are you still in the arena?”

“Nah. Hallway.” He paused. “Waiting.”

Seb's eyebrows rose. “Waiting for what.”

“My Captain.” Kimi said swiftly. “He takes forever in the shower.”

Seb’s mind supplied the image anyway—a room full of steam, towels, and the exact kind of chaos Kimi always described like it was just another day.

“So you’re…” Seb lowered his voice again, as if Monaco might overhear. “Standing in a hallway like some kind of…hockey bouncer?”

“I’m sitting.”

“Oh, so it’s a luxury hallway.” Seb said, grin widening. “Do you at least have a chair?”

“No.”

“Boo,” Seb said, and he meant it even through the smile.

Kimi hummed.

Then, after a second—quietly, like he wasn't trying to make it a thing—

“You seem…good.”

Seb's steps slowed without him deciding to slow them. 

The streetlight above him made everything look a little too much like a film set. Warm gold spilling onto pale stones.

The sea breathing softly somewhere nearby. Monaco pretending it wasn’t just a rich person terrarium. 

He could’ve answered honestly—too honestly maybe. 

He could've said ‘it's nicer with you in it’—because he could feel that was true, in the same uncomplicated way he knew when a car's balance was right. 

But his brain didn't like standing still under bright lights.

So he did what he always seemed to—took the nice feeling, turned it into a joke, and kept walking with it anyway.

“I—well, of course I am.” Seb said, back to bright and ridiculous. “I’m walking among yachts the size of apartment buildings. I’m absorbing the rich air. It’s probably healing my organs.”

“It’s Monaco,” Kimi said, “Probably poisoning them.”

Sebastian laughed again. “Honestly? You’re probably right.”

A pause.

Not awkward—never awkward anymore, which was its own kind of…something—but suspended, like they’d both stepped into the same quiet pocket again and didn’t feel the need to sprint out of it.

Seb heard the small sounds on Kimi's end. 

The soft shuffle of shoes. A distant voice calling something he couldn’t make out. The subtle echo of the indoors swallowing noise.

It made it too easy to keep picturing him without trying—hockey gear probably thrown off by now, shoulders loose, eyes half-lidded with that calm that wasn’t lazy, just tired.

Just Kimi existing like he didn’t have to prove anything.

Seb liked that.

He always did in a way.

And his brain—the helpful idiot it was sometimes—started trying to figure out why. 

He could feel the answer hovering, just out of reach—but he could also feel that poking it right this second wasn’t smart.

So he didn't—at least not now.

He let the feeling stay exactly where it was, warm and unbothered. 

“So,” he said, deliberately casual, very normal. “Tell me one thing Monaco has that Colorado doesn't.” 

Kimi didn't even hesitate.

“People trying to sell you things.”

Sebastians grin cracked wide. “God, you're right.”

“And yachts,” Kimi added. 

“And yachts,” Seb echoes, warm and helpless about it. “And sea monsters.” 

“Seafood,” Kimi corrected, deadpanned as ever.

“No. Definitely sea monsters,” Seb insisted, like it mattered. Like him insisting on it made the night lighter. 

Kimi huffed again—soft, real, enough to make Sebastians smiles go slow at the edges.

Seb stared down at the harbor and felt his chest settle more and more.

Not empty. 

Not buzzing.

Just held.

“Well,” Seb said, quieter now, like he was letting the truth slip through without naming it. “Im glad you picked up.”

“I always pick up,” Kimi replied.

Like it was obvious.

Like it wasn't a small, ridiculous miracle every time. 

Seb’s smile softened. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I know,”

It was quiet again for a beat—gentle and shared.

Then Seb, because he had started collecting these moments like they were normal and not at all something he'd want to replay later, said softly—

“Tell me something stupid you saw today.” 

Kimi’s answer came surprisingly fast, like he’d been holding on to it, waiting to toss it out.

“Our rookie tried to tape his stick blindfolded.” Kimi said. 

Seb narrowed his eyes, raising a brow. “Did he succeed?”

“No.” Kimi said, and Sebastian could hear the shrug in it. “He made it too thick. It looked like a club.”

Seb laughed, so hard he had to stop walking again. “Like a caveman weapon.”

“Yes.”

“And did you—” Seb huffed. “Did you let him go out like that?”

Kimi paused, the hint of menace sliding into his tone. “For a shift.”

Seb stared at nothing, delighted. “Oh my god, you really are evil.”

“It's teaching.”

“It's bullying.” Seb corrected, fond despite himself.

“It’s culture.”

Seb made a sound that was half agreement, half surrender. “You really are quietly the worst.”

“No,” Kimi said, calm. “I’m normal.”

“You’re not,” Seb said immediately—then softer, because his own tone almost surprised him. “Not to me.”

There was a beat of silence that fell over the line.

The air changed—barely—but Seb felt it anyway. Like a gust of wind you didn't see coming.

His thumb stilled on the edge of his phone case.

On the other end, Kimi didn't rush to fill the gap. 

He just…stayed there.

Present.

And Sebastian's brain, again, reached—curious, not scared, just trying to get a grip on the shape of it. 

He barely got to touch it before he defaulted automatically, keeping things moving. 

Keeping it theirs.

“—I mean,” Seb added quickly, like he was correcting a technicality instead of backpedaling. “You’re not normal as a concept. You suggest strip Uno on a moving vehicle constantly!”

A tiny laugh came through the speaker—not too loud but it was enough that Seb’s shoulders dropped anyway.

“That was educational.” Kimi said deadpan.

“It was definitely a crime.” Seb countered. “If the NHL has rules, surely they have a rule against hockey bus nudity.”

“They don’t.”

“Of course they don’t.”  Seb huffed, stopping to stare at the harbor at the next outlook like it was conspiring with the league itself. “Has your Captain survived the shower yet?”

“No."

Seb adjusted his phone against his ear as he kept walking, letting his shoes scuff along the pale concrete. “Are you timing him?”

“No.”

“Liar.” Seb said, warmly. “You totally are. You're probably going to announce his personal best when he exits.”

“I’m not that dedicated.” Kimi said.

“You’re right.” Seb grinned. “You’re worse. You’re subtle.”

“I like to pace myself.” Kimi corrected.

Seb snorted, still smiling when he continued walking. Cutting down another staircase and nearly walking straight into a man carrying a bag of some luxury clothes brand that probably had its own security team.

He sidestepped at the last second, muttering a quick apology, then immediately went back to his call like the near death experience was just part of the ambiance.

“Monaco is trying to kill me before I even get in the car.” he announced, breathless in mock outrage. “It’s stupidly narrow. I think they purposely designed it to punish pedestrians.”

“Thought it was meant for walking.” Kimi said.

“I mean sure, but I think half the residents would rather be delivered to places.” Sebastian said. “Like by boat. Or helicopter. Or by their expensive cars. I honestly wouldn’t put someone carrying them out of the realm of possibilities.”  

“Sounds awful.”

“It is.” Seb agreed, and his steps slowed again as he reached the final outlook by his hotel—where the harbor opened wide.

The lights of the city shimmering against the breathing water, yachts sitting like they were waiting to be applauded.

For a second, he didn't say anything. 

He just held the phone and listened to the background of Kimi’s world.

Like the faint echo, the distant voices, the sense of a corridor and a man waiting because waiting was a part of his job.

It should've felt far.

But it didn't. 

It just felt like the same pocket he'd been finding himself in more and more often lately, as if the line between their worlds had gotten thinner without anyone saying anything about it. 

Then, behind Seb, someone said his name—sudden enough that he nearly dropped his phone.

“Seb?”

He turned his head.

Mark was there, jacket over his shoulder, walking casually with his hands stuffed into his jeans. He looked mildly surprised, like he’d expected Seb to be long gone inside his hotel room by now.

Seb doesn’t know why, but he froze for half a second, phone still at his ear, expression caught mid-something.

“Oh.” Mark said, eyes flicking to Sebastian’s face. His mouth curved. “Right. Sorry. Didn’t realize you were—“

The Australian gestured to his ear.

Sebastian’s soul attempted to leave his body—not because he was doing something wrong, of course not, he was just on the phone with a friend—but because Mark had just shoved a spotlight onto something Seb had been letting stay pleasantly dim. 

“Wait—“ Seb started immediately, because reflex. “It’s just—“

“Sure, mate. Whatever you say.” Mark said, grin widening, still looking half-apologetic but also absolutely half-curious now.

Sebastian hissed through his teeth, lowering the phone a fraction. “Really Mark, it's not—”

Mark stepped closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Is she nice?”

Seb’s entire spine went hot.

Not because of the ‘she’ specifically—though, okay, maybe that too—but because Mark had just tried to give it a category.

And Sebastians brain immediately went—wait...

On the line, Kimi’s voice cut the thought sharply in half, voice perfectly calm as he said: 

“Who’s nice?”

Sebastian stared at Mark like he was about to fling himself over the railing and into the harbor just to avoid existing at this moment.

Mark's eyebrows lifted. “Oh,.” he said again, this time delighted and smug as hell. “Not a she, then.”

Sebastian made a noise that sounded like a human error message and immediately herded Mark away with a very polite form of violence. “Goodbye Mark. Please go be Australian somewhere else.”

Mark laughed, and lifted both hands in surrender as he wandered toward the hotel entrance. “Alright, alright.” he called. “Don't be up too late. Tell him I said hi.” 

Sebastian shot him a look that would've definitely earned him a penalty in Kimi’s sport.

Mark smirked and disappeared through the doors. 

Sebastian stood there for a second, phone pressed to his ear, staring at the hotel doors like it had personally betrayed him.

Then he exhaled—long and disbelieving—and said into the line. “I'm going to push him into the harbor.”

Kimi’s pause lasted exactly long enough to be deliberate. 

“Do it.” Kimi said.

Seb huffed, laughter breaking loose before he could stop it. “Oh yeah?”

“Sounds justified.” Kimi added, tone flat with that specific edge of amusement. “Mostly.”

Sebs laugh burst out of him—sharp, relieved and of course, stupidly happy. Like the universe had tried to embarrass him and Kimi just stood there with him anyway. 

“I love that you're enabling me.”

“You're already enabled.” Kimi said. “I'm just supporting the decision.”

Seb covered his mouth with the back of his hand, still laughing, and stared out at the water again—breathing in the sea air, warm lights and the fact that Kimi being on the other end of a phone call made Monaco feel less like a snow globe designed to shake him up. 

“Okay,” Seb said, voice gentler now, settling into something softer. “So you're in a hallway. Im in a rich-person aquarium. We're both suffering.”

“Yes.”

“And your Captain is still showering.”

“Yes.”

Seb shook his head, smiling into the night, quiet finding him again like it knew the way. 

His thumb rubbed the edge of his phone case absently.

His brain offered him a few words—all easy, honest and simple:

‘I really like doing this’ 

‘This is my favorite part of the day lately’ 

They sat there, right on the tip of his tongue like they belonged.

Sebastian swallowed them—mostly because for some reason, he wanted to keep them on the table. Let them sit until he understood what they were—what it meant. 

So he kept it light.

“I guess I'll let you go,” he said easy. “Before your Captain comes out and sees you lurking in the hallway like an unpaid security guard.”

“Im not lurking.”

“You're literally loitering,” Seb insisted. “Very American.”

“Sure,” Kimi huffed. “Go to bed, Seb.”

Sebastians mouth tugged up. “Im going to. Eventually. Maybe. After I finish walking past six more yachts and one small nations worth of diamonds.” 

“Try not to die,” Kimi said.

Sebs grin softened. “Ill do my best.”

A quiet beat.

Then, casual but still steady, Kimi added:

“Text me when you get inside.”

Seb’s warmed—like his body recognized the shape of being looked after and answered before his brain could note it.

“Yeah,” he said. “I will.”

“Good.”

“Good.” Seb echoed, because apparently this was what they did now—trade a single word back and forth like it was a shared joke and a small promise at the same time.

Neither of them hung up immediately.

The line stayed open, full of background sound, breathing and the kind of quiet that didn't itch.

Seb let it sit, gaze drifting over the out cove like he was taking inventory of the night.

Then, because he was still Seb, he added lightly. “And if Mark tells anyone I’m calling some mystery hookup, I'm blaming you.” 

“How is that my fault?”

“You answered.” Seb said, like that settled it. 

"Right." Kimi huffed—soft—and the sound tucked itself somewhere in Seb's ribs like it belonged there. 

“Talk later.” Sebastian said.

“Yeah,” Kimi replied. “Talk later.”

Seb ended the call and stared at his screen for a second longer than necessary.

The night didn't change, Monaco still glittered, the yachts still sat there smugly and the sea still breathed. 

But Seb stood there smiling anyway, like something had shifted and he didn't feel the need to interrogate it.

He just kept it.

May, Year 1

Somewhere in Switzerland

Sebastian got home feeling like a ghost of himself.

Not depressed or anything, just that specific hollowed out brand of tiredness that came from post-travel.

Where your body is technically still present but your brain is somewhere near an airport corridor, staring at a moving walkway like it personally wronged you. 

Switzerland greeted him with silence, clean air, and the kind of darkness that felt very polite. Mountain peaks dark, velvet draped with zero questions asked.

He dropped his bag by the door and didn't even pretend he was going to be responsible about anything besides one thing.

Hockey.

He didn't take his shoes off right away—hell, he didn’t even unpack or even fully commit to being awake.

He just moved on muscle memory—adjusting the lights to low, switching the TV on, blanket dragged across the couch like he'd been doing this for months now and it was normal.

Because it was. 

The broadcast snapped into Colorados arena—burgundy reds and steel blues swallowing the seats, loud, bright and full of people who looked like they'd come to scream hatred into the shape of entertainment. 

Seb blinked at the screen, eyes still gritty from the plane and the drive home. 

He still hadn't fully accepted that Colorado could be both mountains and violence as a lifestyle choice, but the crowd was definitely doing an excellent job at selling it. 

He pulled his phone closer, squinting at the time like it might apologize.

2:57 a.m

Early morning for him.

Evening for Kimi.

Which meant Kimi was already quiet, locked in and built out of stubbornness and playoff air. Like he'd been carved out of the same material as the boards.

Soon enough, the puck dropped.

Sebastian settled back into the couch with his blanket tucked up around his waist in a way that felt like betrayal to his dignity.

The kind of domestic he never really used to do before this—and when he did it was usually because he was sick or so exhausted he could barely think straight. 

The first period played out like a round of tug-of-war that featured knives and a concerning amount of body checks.

Colorado scored first and the arena erupted like it had been waiting all season to be unbearable.

Seb made a sound into the blanket that was somewhere between a groan, a colorful curse and an ‘are you kidding me?’.

Then Dallas answered.

Then another.

Then Colorado scored again.

Seb let his head tip back into the softness of his couch cushion, eyes half-lidded, listening more than watching for a few seconds—crowd surging, commentators cadence, sharp whistles cutting through like a switch.

He could track it fairly well now, almost in the same way he tracked a race without watching the timing tower. 

He knew when the air shifted, knew the pitch of a rush and the way a game tightened before it snapped.

And—without even thinking—he knew where to look.

Number seven.

Kimi moved the same way as always—un-showy, efficient, inevitable. Like he'd already done the math and everyone else was still arguing over the equation. 

Sebastian’s gaze snagged on the Colorado bench at one point and recognized one of the jerseys there—Button.

Helmet on, talking with his whole body even from the distance of the camera.

Seb’s mouth twitched.

It’s definitely a little ridiculous of the universe to have one of Kimi’s loudest friends follow him into the playoffs like a charming curse. He wondered if that was the first time that had happened.

Probably not.

But it was still really funny regardless.

The second period rolled in and Dallas was able to score early on—assisted by Kimi, and Seb felt that small, smug click in his chest like he’d solved something.

He understood that now—he understood a lot now honestly. 

Then Dallas scored again.

Colorado answered.

And suddenly, the teams were tied once more.

By the time the second intermission hit, Sebastians body had decided tiredness was an option and adrenaline, as usual, was an idiot at times. 

His phone lit up with twitter notifications he had no business refreshing and liking at this hour.

Seb huffed a laugh. “No,” he told his phone, and maybe the TV, like it might hear him. “Im going to suffer quietly. Like the hockey gods intended.”

The third period started and he tried—really, he did—to stay awake.

But his home was silent. His couch was warm. His brain had been operating on airplanes schedules and fluorescent lighting for so long that the moment it sensed softness, it clung to it like a starving animal. 

He blinked slowly.

Once.

Twice.

The rink blurred into movement, the commentators voices turned into a distant river of tone—

Until a whistle snapped him awake like someone had flicked cold water in his face.

Seb jolted, blanket slipped, heart pounding too hard for a man who had been asleep less than five seconds ago. 

The screen showed a scrum near the boards—players tight, gloves up, bodies close. The crowd was roaring in a way that sounded less like excitement and more like permission.

A graphic appeared on screen:

2 MIN — #7 (DAL) BOARDING

2 MIN — #XX (COL) ROUGHING

Seb sat up so fast he almost fell off the couch.“What—?” he started, then the replay rolled and answered him.

Kimi—shoulder lowered, angle wrong. Not malicious or anything, but still enough of a hit that the Colorado player went into the plexiglass with a sharp, ugly thud. 

Sebastians stomach dipped anyway.

Not like the first time he’d watched Kimi take contact and realized hockey really, truly wasn't like racing.

Just—that horrible sink.

The immediate ‘don't’ that arrived in his body before his thoughts could catch up.

He exhaled through his nose, jaw tight.

“Okay,” he muttered to nobody. “That's…not your best idea.”

Kimi was in the box a moment later, posture easy like he'd simply taken a seat at a bus stop. A small red mark blooming along his jaw from something in the mess—stick, glove, an elbow, who knew.

Seb’s fingers curled around the edge of the blanket. 

Yeah.

Still didn’t like this part. 

The penalties expired fairly quickly, the game snapping back into motion like it never paused to threaten anyones morality. 

Then Dallas scored. 

Seb breathed out, almost a laugh.

“Thank god,” he told the TV, voice flat with relief. “That was very considerate.”

The arena got louder.

Colorado pushed.

Dallas pushed back.

And then—late in the period, with the kind of inevitability that made Sebastian's chest go tight—

Kimi scored.

A clean finish.

No drama, just precision. 

Like he'd been waiting all night for the exact second the lane opened and then took it.

The Stars bench erupted. 

The Colorado arena booed like they'd been personally robbed. 

Sebastian grinned so hard it hurt.

He stayed awake through the final minutes out of spite and adrenaline alone, watching Dallas close it down like a door.

When the final horn went, he realized he'd been sitting forward with his elbows on his knees like he was about to go out on track. 

His phone was already in hand

Because apparently his body had decided this was what it did now.

He typed fast, thumbs clumsy with leftover sleep.

Seb set his phone back down and stared at the TV for a second longer than he really needed to, watching the commentators recap and speculate like they could narrate a future into existence. 

His eyes burned.

He rubbed his face with both hands.

Then because he was him—because if he didn’t do it now it would bother him to no end—he hauled himself off the couch and went to empty his suitcase.

He did it like a ritual.

Shoes in their place, bathroom supplies lined up, shirts and shorts tossed into his laundry.

Order, even when his brain wanted to ricochet. 

He hung his jacket and placed his passport in the same spot he always put it.

He told himself it was just because he liked being prepared—not because it kept him from thinking about Kimi’s jaw.

Not because the quiet felt different now—because it wasn't empty.

It was just waiting, like something had been left on low heat and he'd forgotten he'd turned the stove on in the first place.

When he finally sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, the room dim and calm around him, he checked the screen again.

Still nothing.

He expected that. 

It wasn't like Kimi was sitting around, there was a whole other world happening on the other end of that win.

Sebastian was literally halfway through convincing himself to shower and stop staring at his phone like a confused teenager when it buzzed.

His screen lit up with one message.

Seb stared at it.

Then he laughed—soft, helpless and so uguardedly fond.

And then—because his brain loved to trip him when he was already moving—he caught himself mid-laugh.

Huh. 

Not dramatic or anything.

Just a tiny, plain sort of realization sliding under his ribs.

It wasn't ever just the joke that made him laugh.

It was him.

How he only just now noticed, he wasn’t sure.

But it was true.

He pressed his phone to his forehead for a second like it might reset him or something.

It didn’t. 

“Yeah,” he murmured into the empty room, still smiling like a dumbass. “That's playoffs.”

He typed back before he could overthink the warmth.

He set the phone down like it was normal.

Like his chest wasn't buzzing.

Like he didn't already know he’d wake up and without meaning to, go looking for that feeling again.

The same way you went looking for sunlight in a room you hadn't realize was cold.

May, Year 1.5

Somewhere in Switzerland

Sebastian had the softest hoodie he owned on and a passport in his mouth.

Not in his mouth—he wasn't feral, technically—but he was holding it between his teeth like a cigarette while his hands were full of a Red Bull team kit, two other shirts that somehow looked the same no matter how many times he folded them, and a toiletry bag that refused to close without a fight.

The suitcase on his floor was already too full. 

It always was.

He could feel it judging him.

“—I don't understand why you pack like you're moving.” Kimi was saying, voice steady over the speaker, like he'd been born already unimpressed by luggage. 

Seb yanked the passport out of his mouth. “Im not moving. Im just…preparing.”

“For what,” Kimi asked, but Seb could hear the almost-smile in it. “The apocalypse?”

“For Istanbul.” Seb said like that, explained everything, then immediately made a face at himself and added. “Which, to be fair, the track sometimes feels the same.” 

He shoved the branded Red Bull shirt into a corner and sat on the suitcase lid with the resigned determination of a man trying to compress his life into airline-approved dimensions. 

The zipper held—barely.

On the other end of the call, there was soft rustling,  Kimi doing something that sounded like it required tape or a zipper or both.

Probably his stick. 

Or gear. 

Or a bag that had never once been overfilled in it's life.

“I almost forgot you're at home,” Seb said, folding the things he didn't end up wanting to bring neatly like he was proving a point to the universe. “Like, actually home-home.”

“Mhm. A few days.”

“A few days,” Seb echoed, pleased like that was a shared victory. He picked up his phone and brought it closer to his mouth.“Look at us. Domestic living.”

“Don't get carried away.”

Seb snorted and padded from the bedroom to the bathroom, scooping up his shaving stuff with a hand like it had been trying to escape. “I'm not carried away. I'm grounded. Very stable. I'm—” He glanced at the sink where three travel-sized bottles were lined up like soldiers. “—yeah,  probably doing too much.” 

“Probably,” Kimi agreed immediately. 

Seb set the bag on the counter with a small, offended thump. “Well, I'm not taking advice from a guy that packs like he's going to the grocery store.”

“I pack like I know what I need.”

“And I pack like I know what could happen.” Seb said, utterly sincere, and then—because he wasn't going to let that sound like a personality flaw—added. “Which is everything, thank you very much.”

Kimi’s huff came through the speaker, more  a sigh that had learned to be amused then a laugh.

“Also,” Seb added. “You still haven't answered my question.”

“What question.”

Seb marched back into the bedroom, set his phone on the floor and opened his suitcase again just to rearrange something he'd already fixed twice. “Conference finals. Recap it again, like i'm–”

“Not five.” Kimi cut in, dry.

Seb paused, grinning. “Like I'm a mature adult with a respectable brain and a suspicious emotional attachment to your team.”

“Yes.” Kimi said, like he was rewarding him for the effort.

Seb felt that warm little flicker anyway, like it was a medal pinned somewhere behind his ribs.

“So,” Seb continued, “Conference finals is Dallas verses…?”

“Vancouver. Canucks.” Kimi said. 

“Canucks….” Seb echoed, trying to remember who that was. “That's the intimidating orca team right?”

“Mhm.”

“And these are the games before the Cup Finale,” Seb said—mostly to confirm it out loud. He was still learning the shape of the season, but he found he got the hang of it better if he repeated it until it lived in his bones.

“Yes.”

Seb zipped a smaller inner pocket and stared at the suitcase like it might offer insight. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” Kimi said—too fast, too neat.

Sebs eyebrows lifted. “That's a lie.”

“It's not.”

“Hmm.” Seb hummed, because he'd learned the difference between Kimi truly being flat and Kimi being…careful. “I don't believe you.”

There was a beat.

Then Kimi exhaled—small, quiet but real.

“Just ready.”

Seb's chest did the thing.

He immediately busied his hands, grabbing his phone again like it was purely logistical. “Close enough. See. I'm being helpful.”

“You're distracting yourself.” Kimi said, indulgent.

Seb scoffed. “Im being your emotional support racing driver.”

“Sure.”

“I am,” Seb insisted, then softened without meaning to. “I just—I want it to go well.”

A pause.

Not heavy.

Just…there.

Kimi didn't rush to fill it.

Neither did Sebastian.

His TV was on low in the background—some mindless movie, half-watched, mostly ignored. The kind of noise that used to exist just to keep the quiet from getting ideas.

Not it was just..background.

Optional.

Seb slid a few last few items into the suitcase and closed the lid gently, like he was tucking something in. 

On Kimi’s end there was a small zipper sound too—at least he thought it was. Though it might've been tape. Or him shifting against the world's most mafia minimal couch. 

The normal-ness of it hit Seb like a soft, surprising punch. 

“You're leaving tomorrow, right.” Kimi asked, not a complaint, more just confirming the fact again.

“Yep. Another country. Another track, like always.” Seb answered. “But I'll be fine.”

“I know that.”

Seb’s mouth tilted, helpless. “You say it like you're signing off on it, though.”

“I am,” Kimi said simply. “You're good.”

Seb stared at the suitcase for a second like it had suddenly become very interesting. 

Warmth bubbled—gentle, stupid and uncomplicated—and his brain did what it’s been doing lately, tried to turn it into a joke before it could ask him to name something he had no ideas about. 

“Okay, well.” Seb said, bright. “If I die in Turkey, tell Red Bull I died bravely and not because I forgot to pack something.”

“Impossible. You packed everything.”

“Exactly,” Seb said, absolute. “So if I parish, it's clearly fate.”

Kimi hummed. “Or just you.”

Sebastian laughed, and it came out easy.

He sat there for a second, phone still in hand, other palm resting on the suitcase handle like an anchor. 

The room smelled like laundry detergent, toothpaste and the faint trace of Monaco cologne that never fully washed out of his skin anymore, almost like a stubborn souvenir.

He didn't want to hang up yet.

Not because there was anything left to say.

More because there didn't have to be.

“Text me later,” Seb said finally, like it was casual, like it was nothing. 

“I always do,” Kimi replied, immediately.

And then—quiet.

Not empty.

Just chosen.

Seb let it exist, let the silence between them be something soft instead of something to outrun. Let it sit in his hands the way his phone did—warm, ordinary and annoyingly comforting. 

Somewhere on the end, Kimi breathed. 

Somewhere on this end, Seb smiled.

“Alright” Seb said eventually, reaching for teasing like it was a familiar railing. “Go back to your capitalism, villain skyline,”

“Its not a villain skyline.” Kimi said.

“Sure.” Seb snorted.

“Talk later,” Kimi said,

“Yeah,” Seb answered, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Talk later.”

And when the call ended, Sebastian didn't feel the quiet rush back in like a wave.

It was already there—steady, calm.

Only now it had a shape. 

Not routine or silence.

Just a lingering sense that even packed, zipped and ready to sprint across countries again there was something in him that stayed put.

And that, well.

That felt good.

June. Year 1.5

Somewhere in Switzerland

June, Year 1.5

Montreal, Canada

The lobby somehow smelt like nothing and everything at the same time.

Not nothing, nothing—there was expensive teakwood trying very hard to be memorable and the faint burnt-sting of airport coffee trying to be brave against the recycled air—but the overall effect was still erased in a way.

Like the building had been designed to absorb people—no fingerprints, no mess and no proof anyone had ever stood still long enough to want something.

Which was, unfortunately, exactly the kind of place Sebastian always got in trouble. 

Not because he was naive or anything—he wasn’t. He just kept believing in ‘quick’ the way a dog believed in ‘one treat.’

Every time he told himself fifteen minutes would stay fifteen minutes, Britta with a meaningful smile would appear and turn his life into a detour. 

But this time, he was hopeful.

Truly, he was. 

He’d already done the sponsor presentation bit—microphone, handshakes, laughing at the right time, answering three variations of ‘how do your chances look this weekend?’ as if he hadn't been answering that question in ten different fonts since he was nineteen.

Now he was in the hotel lobby anyway, phone in hand, pretending he wasn't a man waiting for a coffee like it was a finish line.

Britta hovered a step behind him, clipboard under her arm the way a weapon was tucked under a coat.

Her expression was neutral in that specific way that meant she could—if necessary—shepherd a Formula One driver through a crowd of rich people and also fight Gods. 

Sebastian checked his phone again.

His ‘window’ had officially started two minutes ago.

Coffee.

Fifteen minutes.

Simple. 

He repeated it in his head like a mantra—a spell even—like if he said it enough the minute gods would keep their hands away from him for just this once. 

It was a little stupid all things considered, it was literally airport coffee.

But it was also making his skin do that electric-thrum thing, his body not knowing whether to sprint, laugh or crawl under a chair. 

He tried to play it cool—he really, really did—it was just, there was something about this that made him feel all but fourteen in the worst possible way.

“I'm going to grab a drink,” he told Britta, casual, nodding toward the cafe that had been aggressively styled to look like it didn't know it was in an terminal. 

Britta's gaze flicked to him. “You already had two Red Bulls today,”

“Well, yes,” he said, “This is….my third caffeine dose. I need Canadian hydration not just sponsored battery acid.”

“I don't think that's a thing.” 

“It's Montreal logic,” Seb said, like that was a real and totally respectable concept.  “The maple syrup air makes you thirstier. Its science.”

Britta’s mouth didn't move, but her eyes did give him that look.

He gave her his brightest, most innocent smile. The one he used on stewards, reporters, and people who thought ‘one more photo’ was a reasonable request when he hadn't eaten in five hours. 

“I’m on my break anyway—ten minutes, promise.”

“Seb wait–”

And he was already walking, threading through roller suitcases and lanyards, the soft hush of marble under his shoes.

Somewhere nearby the elevator chimed, a concierge said someones name like it mattered.

The fountain did its best impression of a zen garden while everyone around it looked like they were either late or rich enough to never be. 

He got within three feet of the counter when his phone buzzed. 

A text.

Sebastian fumbled it out of his pocket so fast he nearly dropped it.

The screen lit up in his palm. 

Sebastians head snapped up so hard his neck complained—which was impressive given his career. 

At first he saw nothing but glass and glare—sunlight catching the huge front windows, bouncing the lobby back at itself. 

Bodies moving, polished floors turning everyone into reflections, his own face faintly overlaid on the world. His eyes too bright for a man who had told himself twelve different times this was fine. 

Then his focus caught.

Across the lobby, near the automatic doors—where the outside light made everything look sharper—Kimi stood half-turned, phone in hand.

He wasn't a tweet.

Wasn't a voice note.

Wasn't a name on a screen with a penalty stamp. 

He was just…there.

And Sebastian's brain did the stupidest thing imaginable.

It forgot how to do literally anything. 

He went so still it felt like someone had pressed pause on him. Like his body was waiting for instructions it didn't have.

He'd been trained his whole life for speed, decisions and reaction times—yet all of those skills seemed to vanish at the sight of a hockey player in an airport hotel lobby. 

Kimi looked the same and different at the same time—same solid posture, same contained presence. Familiar Red Bull cap pulled over his pale hair, jacket open like he'd been moving through another airport and it hadn't been a big deal.

But the distance between Austin and now made it loud.

Seeing him in three dimensions again turned the volume up on something Sebastian had only been listening quietly to for months. 

Then—

Kimi’s gaze met his.

Not dramatic or anything, really.

I wasn't even obvious.

Just a look. 

Steady and simple, like a ‘there you are.’

And it hit Sebastian anyway—clean and immediate. Almost like breaking a fraction too late and suddenly realizing there isn't enough space left to fix it. 

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

His feet though—at least those did something. 

One step to the side. 

Then forward.

Then another.

And another—

His body was already choosing before his brain could argue—and that was the part that caught, because it didn't feel like a decision.

It just felt like gravity pulling. 

He barely made it past the coffee bar when—

“Seb,”

Britta's voice behind him, crips, polite but absolutely lethal.

His stomach dropped.

She was next to him in a second, one hand hovering at his elbow, not touching yet but ready to.

Fuck.

Britta always had a special talent for appearing the exact second his life tried to become dramatic.

“Sorry,.” she said, sounding genuinely apologetic but also not. “They moved up the sponsor lunch. They arrived earlier than planned.”

Sebs heart did something ugly and fast—like it was trying to escape his ribcage. 

“Wait—” he started, because his only plan was ‘walk toward him’ and suddenly the world was telling him no.

Britta glanced at his phone, like she could see the words without reading them. 

“You’ll be done earlier,” she added, gentle, like she was offering him a treat after a vet appointment. “So you'll have all afternoon free.”

All afternoon.

Sure.

Except for the fact all afternoon didn't matter if the moment was happening now.

“Britta,” he said, voice dropping, urgent enough to embarrass him. “I had fifteen minutes.”

“Seb…”

“Can’t we just—”

“Its non-negotiable, I'm sorry,” she said, soft but firm. Already turning toward the elevators. “Christian and Mark are already upstairs with them.” 

Sebs eyes flicked back to the doors.

Kimi hadn't moved—not yet, anyway.

He just watched, still and steady, understanding exactly what was happening without needing it explained. 

And for one insane—completely unhinged—second, Sebastian thought about doing something stupid. 

Like walking away.

Choosing the lobby.

Choosing him.

He didn't though.

Not because he didn't want to.

But because he did. 

So badly his chest hurt.

Britta guided him anyway—efficient, practiced, with the kind of inevitability Seb usually lived inside without thinking twice. 

His fingers unlocked his phone with shaking precision

Sebastian looked.

Kimi was closer now—not because he'd moved toward him, but because Seb was being herded past the line of sight like a suitcase on a conveyor belt. 

The automatic doors behind Kimi opened with a soft hiss.

Someone appearing at his shoulder—tall, familiar in that hockey teammate way, dressed like he lived in airports. He said something Sebastian couldn't hear.

Kimi tilted his head, just slightly.

And Sebastian saw it—even from here—the tiny shift in Kimi’s posture. The set of his jaw. The way he seemed to accept the reality of it all without flinching, while still not looking away.

He didn't look pleading—not that he expected him to.

He was still just there.

And Seb almost hated how much it helped, how much it steadied him but also made the hurt sharper.

Because he knew exactly what he was missing. 

Britta steered him into the elevator.

The lobby reflected in the polished metal walls, stretching and warping like a bad mirror—Britta's clipboard, his on face too open, too caught and —

Kimi turning away.

Just gone in the way someone disappears when the moment slips out of your hands.

The doors began to close.

Sebastians thumbs flew across his keyboard.

The doors shut with a soft thud. 

The elevator rose.

Sebastian stared at his phone like it had betrayed him, like the words were wrong, like reality had made an error and someone—anyone—could fix it if they just argued loud enough.

Britta cleared her throat gently, like she was giving him a second to become a functioning person again. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, glancing at him, genuine worry peeking through the professionalism.

Seb swallowed.

“Yeah,” he said, automatically. “Yeah, I’m—fine.”

The lie tasted bad, like cheap coffee. Like something he swallowed too fast. 

Because the thing was—

This didn't feel like ‘aw man’

This didn't feel like ‘damn, that really sucks’

It felt like missing a step on a staircase you've walked a thousand times, and suddenly your stomach is in your throat and your body is bracing for impact. 

It felt personal—which was ridiculous.

It was only fifteen minutes.

Coffee.

A lobby.

It shouldn't hurt like this.

Except it did.

And as the elevator climbed, as the fluorescent light hummed overhead and Britta checked her clipboard like she hadn't just accidentally detonated something in Sebastian’s chest—

His brain finally caught up with his body.

Not lighting bolts.

Not in a speech or crazed spiral.

Just a clean, quiet truth settling into place like it had been waiting there the whole time. 

Oh.

He stared at Kimi’s last message again.

‘Well get it right next time.’

And chest tightened—then, strangely, steadied. 

Because Kimi hadn't said ‘sorry’ or ‘too bad’. He hadn't treated it like a one-time accident.

He said ‘next time’ like it was already decided. 

Like Sebastian was already in his future.

Seb exhaled, slow, like he was erasing his own heart back into rhythm.

Then he pocketed his phone, because the elevator chimed and the doors opened, the world demanding him again.

But as he walked into that too-pristine, too-dimly lit restaurant—into sponsors and polite laughter— he carried that warmth with him. 

Except now it didn't feel like ‘nice.’

Now it felt like something he couldn't un-know.

Sebastian shut the door behind him and leaned back against the wood like gravity had suddenly remembered he existed. 

The room was quiet in that luxury hotel type way—thick carpet that swallowed sound, low amber light, air-conditioning humming like it wanted credit for being subtle. 

Somewhere outside, Montreal kept moving. People in lobbies, elevators, and taxies, lives brushing past each other without snagging.

Somewhere else entirely, Kimi was already gone again, swallowed back into the machinery of sport schedules, flight gates and playoff logistics. 

Seb slid his phone into his pocket like it might burn him if he kept holding it.

“Fuck,” he cursed to the room, because sometimes that helped. The mini-fridge decided then to click on, as if agreeing with him. 

He kicked off his shoes, dropped his jacket over the chair instead of hanging it like a civilized human being, and started pacing. 

From the bed to the window. Back again. He ran a hand through his hair like he could somehow catch his thoughts physically. 

Fifteen minutes.

That was the part that kept fucking catching.

Not because it was some grand tragedy or because it meant anything in the way people wrote deep think pieces about. 

Just—fifteen minutes.

Coffee.

A lobby.

And it felt like someone had reached into his chest, unplugged something, and then proceeded to plug in an entirely new lamp. 

Seb scrubbed a hand down his face and laughed once—sharp and disbelieving.

“Im such an idiot.” he muttered, half like an insult, half like…fondness.

Because of course.

Of fucking course this is what it took for his brain to finally decide to join the rest of his body.

Not fireworks or a heart-shaped arrow, or some cinematic moment where the universe stopped and some choir randomly sang.

No.

Sebastian—four years into Formula One, allegedly intelligent and deeply self-aware—caught a crush like a slow leak.

Over time zones.

Text bubbles.

A voice that showed up in his ear at stupid hours and somehow made everything else feel exactly right. 

Over a hockey player he’d spent more time with through a phone than in the same room.

He stopped pacing and dropped onto the edge of the bed, then fell back onto the mattress like he was surrendering to it. 

He stared at the boring, flat ceiling like it might offer answers, or divine intervention.

But that was the thing, wasn't it?

It wasn't even that he needed.

Because now that the world had finally snapped into place, everything behind it rearranged like magnets finding the right poles.

Like why the quiet had stopped feeling itchy—stopped feeling so empty. 

Why a win didn't fully land until he’d told him.

Why he'd started watching playoff hockey at three in the morning like it was a religious practice. 

Why the thought of Kimi being there and him not getting to reach him had made his stomach drop like he’d missed a step. 

Why seeing him—actually seeing him, not pixels or imagined or filtered through a broadcast—had knocked the air straight out of his lungs. 

Seb let out a slow breath through his nose and, to his own surprise, smiled.

Because he didn't hate it.

Not even close.

There was no dread to it—no panic. No ‘oh god what the hell do i do now.’

It was just recognition—his brain finally realizing what his body had been holding onto for months.

It made sense.

Painfully, perfectly. 

Kimi made the space between racing feel livable. Not loud or distracting. Just steady. A place for all the leftover adrenaline and restlessness to go when the car was parked and the paddock noise stopped. 

Racing was still the sun, the north star of his life—and it would always be.

But Kimi—

He was the part where everything didn't have to be bright to matter. 

Sebastian closed his eyes for a second, let the thought sit there, warm and ridiculous. 

And because he was him and couldn’t live with the feeling without immediately thinking of—

Does Kimi feel it too?

Because Kimi was always there.

He picked up. He had said ‘next time’ like it was a fact. He told him to text when he got inside.

Kimi made space for him the way people didn't unless they wanted you in it.

But Kimi was also—well, Kimi. 

Steady, unbothered, almost impossible to read if you didn't already know the language. 

Seb stared up at the ceiling, blinking, trying to note the evidence like he was reviwing his track notes.

Kimi saying ‘I like knowing you did’ after Seb watched a game. 

Kimi calling him from a hallway because he didn't want to talk to anyone else. Kimi never flinching at the frequency, never acting like this was weird. The way he said ‘good’, how it landed like a hand on his ribs. 

The ‘we’ll get it right next time,’ as if this wasn't a one-off but a plan they'd simply reschedule. 

Seb let out a soft sound that might've been a laugh.

“Okay, So,” he said, because the room still felt like it needed updates. “...you might be in this. Maybe.”

He rolled onto his side and fished his phone out of his pocket. 

Not to text,—definitely not to spiral, which was a whole other surprise—not to confess anything insane in a hotel room while his heart was still doing laps. 

Just to hold it.

Feel the weight of it in his hands, like an anchor. Because the answer—what to do about it—wasn't complicated.

Not yet.

He wasn't going to turn something good into something bigger before it flowed there. 

He would do what he'd already been doing, except now he'd do it with his eyes open. 

Same jokes, same calls, same stupid domestic little moments that didn't feel like ‘just friends’ when you actually stopped and looked at them enough.

And underneath it, he'd start watching for an answer.

Not hunting it or anything, just noticing.

Sebastian set his phone down on the nightstand like it belonged there—as if it had for a while.

He stared at it for a second longer than necessary, mouth tugging at the edge like he was holding back a grin.

Because truly—honestly—this was kind of embarrassing all things considered. 

A Formula One race winner with a crush like a fourteen-year-old girl. 

On a hockey player.

A—and he can sort of admit this with his chest now—really, really attractive one. 

Christ. 

He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, as if that could hide the smile from the room.

And even with the sting of the lobby miss still under his skin, the thought that sat the warmest in his chest wasn't ‘we missed it.’

It was—next time.

Because that was apparently a thing now.

Not just nice.

Not just warmth.

Not just quiet.

Something with a name now.

And Sebastian, wholeheartedly, let himself have it. 

June, Year 1.5

Montreal, Canada

Sebastian didn't even realize he'd been sitting forward until the horn went off and his shoulders finally unclenched like someone had cut a wire.

Dallas had won by a fucking mile, in Vancouver’s home arena that sounded like a jet engine with opinions. 

The broadcast immediately went feral—confetti graphics, slow-motion skating shots, exhausted faces lit up like they'd been forged in sweat and stadium light.

The goalie got mobbed, the bench turned into a pile of green, gloves and helmets. Bodies slammed together like gravity had stopped being optional. 

Seb stayed planted on the edge of the bed anyway, because his body apparently hadn't caught up to the fact the thrill was over.

His room service tray sat beside him on the plush duvet—half-eaten fries going cold, ketchup drying in a sad little crescent—because at some point during the second period his stomach had filed a formal complaint and his brain had thrown it directly in the trash.

His phone was already in his hand.

Of course it was. 

He stared at the thread for a beat after hitting send, like eye contact alone might be able to summon a reply faster.

Nothing happened, obviously.

But that was just normal now.

Sebastian exhaled and forced himself to do at least one mundane thing so he didn't start vibrating directly out of his own skin. 

He stood up, grabbed the tray, stole exactly one more soggy fry out of spite, and then carried it to the door. 

The hallway outside was quiet in that expensive hotel way—like the building had signed a contract to not be perceived after ten p.m.

He set it down before coming back inside, shutting the door and turning toward the TV again.

A replay crossed the screen, one of Dallas’s goals slowed down until you could see every micro-decision that went into it—the moment a lane opened, the angle of a stick, the way bodies shifted like chess pieces with blades.

And there, threaded through it all, like the camera already understood where the story lived—

Number seven.

Kimi doing the same math before anyone else, finishing reading a problem before anyone noticed it even was one.

Seb's mouth curled up, warmth curling behind his sternum. Familiar in a way that just made him plainly stupid.

He grabbed his phone again, thumb hovering, and considered sending something deeply unhinged like ‘i'm suing you for making my heart act like this’, which was—no.

He was trying to be normal.

Absolutely, totally normal.

A respectable adult.

Not a teenager with a crush and a Wi-Fi connection. 

Except he was already doing a terrible job—but hey, at least he’s trying. The effort alone deserved at least a few points.

His phone suddenly lit up, buzzing rapidly.

An incoming call.

From Kimi.

Sebastian answered on the first ring—like the absolute idiot he definitely was.

“Hi,” he said, and immediately winced, at how it sounded like he was calling someone's mother—again.

On the other end there was muffled noise—voices layered over each other, laughter too loud with adrenaline, the clack of skates against concrete and the rattle of sticks getting dumped somewhere.

A whole team trying to become a single screaming whirl wind. 

Kimi's voice came through it all anyway, low and steady, like he'd found a quiet corner by sheer will alone. 

“Hey,” he said, immediately, and he sounded faintly breathless—alive even

Seb’s body did that soft, ridiculous settling thing it only did for one person now. 

“Congrats.” Seb said and he meant it so hard it made his teeth ache. “You realize you've helped drag your entire city into the final and now everyone in Texas is going to be unbearable.”

“They already are.” Kimi replied, and Seb could hear the smile in it like a shadow. “You included.”

“Hey now—i think i deserve that,” Seb shot back instantly. “Ive done the math. I've woken up at criminal hours. I have suffered through broadcast ads that are ninety percent oversized trucks and concerning medications. I’m basically on the team.”

“You're not.”

“Not officially,” Seb said. “But emotionally? I’m wearing a jersey.”

Kimi let out a soft snort—warm and indulgent—the sound alone sending a spark up Sebs spine.

He pressed the phone closer to his ear, as if that would make the distance less of a thing. 

“How bad was it in there? Be honest.” Seb asked. “ Because I swear I could hear everyone in the arena all the way from here.”

“They were loud,” Kimi said simply. “And annoying.”

“Ah, so the usual scouting report.”

“Yes.”

Seb laughed, breath easing out of him. “Alright. Fair.”

There was a shift in the background—like Kimi moved, shoulder brushing the wall, voices fading slightly.

And then, casually—like it mattered in the way small things mattered to him—

“Did you end up eating?” Kimi asked.

Seb glanced at the door, where the  tray sat abandoned, fires dying a quiet death in the corridor.

He felt a heat climb up his neck, because apparently his body had also decided to add this reaction on top of everything else. 

“Sort of.”

“Hm.”

“Don’t do that.” Seb said instantly.

“Do what.”

“The ‘hm’ thing.” Seb said, pointing at nothing like he could put it on trial. “I can feel the judgement radiating through the phone.”

“It's not judgement,” Kimi said, and Seb could hear the lie in the tease. “It's an observation.”

“Oh my god,” Seb huffed. “Listen, I was busy being stressed and supportive.”

“You yelled.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“You told me you did,” Kimi replied, deadpan.

“Shit, you're right.” Seb laughed, grinning like an absolute idiot. “I forgot I confessed my crimes.”

Kimi’s breath came through again—all soft, in a way that hit Seb right in the chest like a puck to a net.

He could've stayed in the jokes, he usually did really.

But his own promise from the other day—pay attention, on purpose—pressed at the back of his mind like a hand pushing between his shoulder blades. 

So when the warmth rose up again, he didn't side step into a joke.

He let it sit on his tongue. 

“I—I’m just really happy for you.” Seb said, quieter than he actually meant to. “Like—insanely.”

A beat.

The noise on Kimi’s side seemed to politely quiet, as if the world had given them a bubble of quiet. 

Kimi didn't dodge or fill it—he never did, honestly. 

That should've been the first hint.

Seb swallowed, suddenly too aware of how warm his room was—how warm he felt.

How soft the duvet was under his fingertips. How hard his heart was pounding—bright and unmistakably real.

And that’s probably why he let the truth slip out on its own, a little messy and half-formed, but a truth nonetheless. 

“I wish I could see that,” Seb admitted. “Like…properly. Not on screen, I wanted—” he stopped, mouth clicking shut before he could say you, because that felt like stepping over a line barefoot.

Kimi didn't push though, he never did.

He just answered, steady and gentle, like a hand on the base of Sebastian’s spine.

“Me too,” he said.

Seb’s breath caught in his throat—not because it was exactly surprising, it didn't feel like that—more just because it landed like an arrow, exactly where it seemed to be aimed.

“I still knew you were there,”

And that.

That sent the butterflies in his stomach going feral. 

“I—of course I was.” Seb said quickly. Too fast. “I promised.” 

“Yeah,” Kimi said, “You did.”

The air went tight in that specific way that wasn't bad—just charged.

Like a wire humming under skin.

In the background, someone shouted Kimi’s name, laughing, calling him back into the pile of celebration. 

Seb forced himself to breathe. 

“You should go,” he said, low. “This isn't very ‘just made the Cup Final’ of you. Go be mobbed by your team.”

“In a minute.” Kimi said.

And then—softer, like he wasn't making it a thing but he also wasn't pretending—

“I just had to do this first.”

Sebastians heart gave a hard, stuttered skip.

Because he knew that move.

He’d done it in Shanghai. After podiums. After days that felt too loud and nights that felt too quiet to hold alone. 

You reach for the person who makes the after feel complete.

Sebastian swallowed, letting the silence breathe—comfortable, chosen—while the distant celebration kept echoing on the other side of Canada and Kimi still didn't hang up.

Seb's fingers picked with the edge of the mattress duvet, soft fabric grounding.

He listened.

Not to the arena or the post-game commentary now playing on the TV. 

To Kimi’s breathing, the way he stayed and the way he’d called.

And as someone laughed too loudly in the background and Kimi’s name rose again like a tug—

Sebastian felt that he couldn't have been the only one carrying this.

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't even him that had been carrying it first.

And suddenly, the ache from the lobby—fifteen minutes, coffee, and almosts—didn't vanish, but softened more around the edges. 

Because Kimi had said first, had chosen him before anything else.

Sebastian couldn't help but smile, helplessly as he stayed on the line a second longer. 

Heart acting like it had just won something too.

June, Year 1.5

Valencia, Spain

Sebastian had packed this exact suitcase three days ago and it had closed—barely, but it did—like a somewhat well-behaved piece of polycarbonate.  

Now it sat on his floor like it had somehow grown teeth in the past seventy-two hours.

He pressed down on the lid with his forearm, jaw clenched, face scrunched in concentration as he tried to drag the zipper across for the third time in five minutes.

It moved exactly one itch before stopping.

Like it was somehow laughing at him.

“Come on,” he muttered at it, voice low and furious. “Don't do this in front of him again.”

On the other end of the line, Kimi was steady in the way he always was—quiet sounds in the background, the soft thud of something being set down, and then the clean, decisive zip of his own bag closing like it had simply agreed to behave out of respect. 

Because of fucking course it did.

Kimi packed like he lived out of a duffle bag and a shrug. Basically fitting his entire existence into one zipper pull and a single opinion. 

“You’re still fighting it?” Kimi asked. 

Sebastian stared at the suitcase lid like it was personally responsible for world hunger. “No.”

A beat.

“...Yes.” Seb admitted, offended. “But only because it's being unreasonable.”

“That’s just you,” Kimi said flatly, like he was giving a diagnosis.

Sebastian huffed a laugh, and it came out way too warm given the fact he was currently wrestling luggage like an idiot.

But he couldn't help it.

This month—hell, even just last week—had done things to his insides.

Ever since Canada, ever since the call after the Conference win, everything Kimi said landed with extra weight.

The words no longer hitting just his ears—but directly inside his ribcage. Even when it was nothing—especially when it was nothing.

And, to nobody's surprise, he still didn't hate it.

If anything he liked it even more.

He unzipped the suitcase again, and shoved a hand inside, flattening fabric like he could convince physics to be kind if he tried hard enough. 

“Tell me again why you don't pack like a normal person,” Kimi said, and Sebastian could hear the smile in it, sparking a fresh current of warmth into his bloodstream. 

“I am a normal person, thank you,” Sebastian replied immediately, which was definitely a lie but maybe if he said it enough it could be true. “I just like being prepared.”

“For what,” Kimi said. “A hostage situation?”

Seb barked out a laugh. “Yes! Exactly. What if there's a surprise dress code for a sponsor event? What if I need three separate options for ‘team dinner where Helmet makes eye contact and your soul tries to leave your body’?” 

“Just pick a few shirts,” Kimi said. “You can just have them washed.”

Seb yanked at the zipper again, this time it moved, suddenly feeling very cooperative. Maybe it finally didn't want to be embarrassed in front of attractive hockey players anymore. 

He smirked smugly, victorious.

“You don't understand the principle!” he said, leaning into the bit, because he was nothing if not committed. “That being I bring options because I am an athlete and my entire life is surprise attacks.”

“The principle is that you bring too much stuff.”

“I bring the right amount of stuff,” Sebastian insisted, mock-scandalized. “It all fit when I came here.”

Kimi’s pause that came was the kind of judgement that you felt even when not a single syllable had been said.

“Did you buy anything?”

Seb froze, glancing without meaning to at at his phone case on the carpet—at the new little addition tucked under the clear plastic like a secret.

“...No.” he said quickly. 

Another beat.

“Well,” he corrected, because lying to Kimi felt pointless these days too. “I did get something. But it has nothing to do with my suitcase not behaving.”

“Sure,” Kimi said, unconvinced. 

Sebastian smiled despite himself. 

He reached for his phone, grabbing it off the carpet and turning it over. His thumb brushed the edge of the sticker like he couldn't help checking it was still there. 

“Its a sticker.” he admitted.

“Of what?” 

Sebastian exhaled like he was stepping off a cliff. “A…star,” 

“A star.” Kimi repeated. 

“Yes,” Seb said, committing fully now because he was going to be embarrassing he might as well give it some effort. “A Dallas star.”

There was a tiny pause—just long enough for Seb's heart to attempt to sprint out of his body.

And then Kimi laughed.

Sebastian had to press his palm flat against the suitcase lid to keep himself from doing something more embarrassing than keeping the sticker—like exploding, or melting into the carpet. 

Both extremely possible.

“You got it today?” Kimi asked, still clearly amused.

“Yeah,” Seb said, and tried to sound casual and failed. “I was walking out of the paddock and this fan…just handed it to me. Like thats normal and i’m allowed.”

“You are,” Kimi said, simple as that.

“I stuck it in my case,” he said, because his mouth was just letting it all fall out now. “So I wouldn't lose it.”

Kimi didn't say anything for a second—not awkward but that thin, warm line they seemed to keep walking without looking down.

“I’m glad,” Kimi said finally, and his voice had dipped a fraction softer, like he’d tilted closer to his phone.

Sebastian pretended he couldn't hear his own heart in his throat.

“So,” he said briskly, reclaiming chaos before he started glowing audibly instead of physically. “Boston. Are you packed like a normal person.”

“Probably.”

“That's not an answer.”

“It is,” Kimi replied. 

Sebastians shut his eyes for half a second because—god, he was so so fucked. 

He switched the call to handheld, like holding it closer would make him less ridiculous.

“Be honest,” he said, “Do you have at least one shirt that isn't grey-scaled?”

“Yes,”

Seb squinted at the wall. “Really? What is it.”

Kimi paused.

Sebastian held his breath without meaning too.

“White.”

Sebastians burst out laughing. “You're joking.”

“No,”

“You're insane. ” Seb said, delighted.  “Do you only own clothes in non-boring colors? I swear Ive never seen you in anything besides…shades of doom.”

“My jersey is green.” Kimi said, unbothered.

“That does not count.”

“Its still color,”

Sebastian shook his head, grin still stuck to his face like a sticker he couldn't peel. 

His fingers flicked at the zipper on his suitcase—like his hands needed a job so his brain didn't start replying the way Kimi sounded when he laughed in surround sound.

The warmth was there too of course—steady, rising.

“Are you nervous?” Sebastian asked, trying for casual but ended up missing by a landslide.

A pause.

“Not nervous,” Kimi said, “Ready.”

Sebastians chest warmed so much it almost burned. But it didn't hurt, just felt clean, proud—like watching someone you want win and realizing you've started wanting it on an inhuman level. 

“Good,” Seb said, and he meant it.

Kimi hummed, agreement soft as fabric.

Silence fell over them again and Sebastian could hear the faint sounds that only existed inside this. 

Like the faint ambiance of Kimi’s serial killer apartment in Dallas, the steady hum of the mini-fridge in Sebastian's own room. Two separate places sharing the same pocket of quiet. 

Sebastian glanced at the mirror across the room, catching his own reflection. Messy hair, curls damp from a shower, eyes too awake for someone who'd been up since dawn, mouth tipped like he'd forgotten how to be anything but happy.

Smitten was a bit of an embarrassing word.

But there also wasn't another word for it.

“Text me later,” Seb said eventually, like it was routine.

“I always do,” Kimi replied, immediate, certain.

And Sebastian—because he was an idiot and because he was a romantic disaster with a passport—looked at where the Dallas sticker reflected in the mirror along with him.

“Yeah,” he smiled softly, throat tightening with something stupidly bright. “I know,”

June, Year 1.5

Hockenheim, Germany

Sebastian sat propped against the headboard, phone in both hands, duvet pooled around his waist like it was trying to physically pin him down to stop him from doing something dramatic in his home country. 

It didn't work.

He’d been awake before his alarm even went off, staring at the darkened ceiling while his heart was already sprinting.

Like it thought this was his grid slot and not a hockey game happening an ocean away.

The broadcast was loading with that specific slow cruelty Wi-Fi loved to perform when you wanted something too badly.

The spinning circle, the buffering, Sebastian’s jaw tightening like he could intimidate it into cooperating. 

Thankfully, the little circle stopped spinning before he did something drastic and the arena's roar flooded his speakers, bright, electric and alive.

The noise didn't just stay in the phone, it felt like it climbed straight into his chest—threading itself between his ribs.

Seb exhaled through his nose like he could force his heart into a somewhat normal rhythm. 

“Okay.” he muttered to nobody but himself, the mini-fridge, and the universe that apparently decided to test his sanity multiple times this year. “They’ve got this.”

The final game.

Dallas in green.

Boston in black and gold. 

The ice was a white glare under the rink lights, so bright they almost felt violent.

The camera panned down and the crowd became one living thing—breathing, waiting and hungry for a winner.

Sebastian hovered his thumb over the volume and nudged it up a notch, then immediately regretted it.

He didn't need it louder, it was already too loud inside him.

Before he knew it, all the pre-game coverage was over. The last commercial about chips ended and the final slow motion montage faded.

‘Who will be etched into history tonight?’ The commentators asked lightly, as if the question wasn't the reason his stomach  was currently twisting up over.

Then the puck dropped.

And the game didn't start so much as snap into motion—fast, busy, constant, like someone had turned the speed knob up to a thousand on reality itself. 

Sebastian could track it impressively well compared to a few months ago.

The shape of the rush, the moment bodies shifted and lanes opened and closed like a door, he understood it all just as well as he knew tire strategy. 

And his eyes—predictable as ever—found number seven with ease.

Kimi moved the way he always did—but there was something threaded through it tonight.

An edge.

That bright and hungry buzz of determination that Seb hadn't really seen until now.

He felt his own focus narrow at the edges, sharp as glass.

Boston ended up scoring the first goal annoying early. 

The horn blared, the arena erupted and Seb felt something sharp and ugly flare up in him—like someone had pressed a thumb straight into a bruise.

He didn't swear—at least not yet—honestly, he didn't do much of anything. 

Just stared, blinking once, grip tightening around his phone until his knuckles went pale.

His foot started bouncing.

He tried to stop it.

No use.

If anything, it got worse—like his body was trying to pace and sitting down was not going to stop it.

A few minutes later Boston took a holding penalty.

Sebastian was smug for around half a second before he strangled it.

Because this was a power play now and he wasn't about to tempt the universe into doing something horrible.

“Come on,” he whispered, as if Dallas—as if Kimi—could hear him through drywall and distance. 

Maybe they did.

Because Dallas started pushing, scrambling and pressed every time they got close to Boston's net.

The puck looked like it was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, a blur against the white of the ice. 

But Sebastian's eyes kept snapping back to Kimi anyway, because his brain was refusing to be subtle about what he actually cared about now.

Dallas got the puck.

A player approached the net and took a shot—

Missed.

The first period ended with Dallas still down by one and Seb exhaled like he'd been held underwater. 

“Okay. That's okay,” he told the room again, because telling the room things had become a habit. “Reset. There's still time.” 

Second period began in a blink.

Boston scored again—so easy it almost felt insulting.

The arena lights flashed, the crowd cheered and the scoreboard updated like a crime.

Sebastians stomach dropped like an elevator cable snapped.

He sat up straighter, dragging a hand over his face, correcting his phone angle like he was saving his car from a slide.

Then, just as he righted the screen, it happened—

Dallas finally answered.

The goal was messy and desperate but god did it send hope flooding back into his veins like it had been waiting there, fist clenched.

Sebastian made a noise that was halfway between a gasp and a laugh, shaking his phone with both hands like he could keep the momentum going through sheer force of his own excitement. 

“Yes!” he breathed, louder than the hum of the room. “Now keep going.” 

Third period began just as soon as the second and his entire body reacted like he'd been shot full of pure adrenaline—breath punching out, pulse hammering, and every near miss yanking him forward like an invisible hook.

It was probably one of the most stressful stretch of sports Sebastian had ever watched in his life.

And that was saying something seeing as he was the one who drove a metal coffin at high speeds every weekend.

He didn't realized he'd been clenching his teeth until his jaw started to ache.

The minutes kept draining, near misses on both ends, constant and almost cruel.

Sebastian was almost tempted to shut it off to stop feeling like his heart might detonate every time Boston attempted another goal.

And then—

Dallas shot one straight in.

The commentators exploded, the arena noise rose.

The game tied and the world seemed to tilt.

Just as fast as the excitement entered, the pressure all came crashing in. 

The commentators' voices tightened as the overtime clock began, and it felt like the entire arena went a dial lower—everyone leaning in.

Because this was it.

Next goal wins.

All or nothing.

The puck hit the ice, and Boston’s players immediately got faster, meaner. Like a switch flicked on.

Dallas wasn't far behind, the entire team getting sharper—movements precise, defensive, stubborn as hell.

The ice looked smaller, like the world had only narrowed down to this frozen rectangle and nothing else.

And Sebastian noticed—really quickly—Kimi’s shifts were longer than they had been the entire game.

Longer than what seemed reasonable, really—like he'd decided he was going to drag the team across the finish line with his teeth or die trying. 

The broadcast seemed to catch onto it too, because the camera kept finding him again and again.

The commentators singing his praises, myth-making him, framing it like the story wanted a hero.

'He could be the one who makes the difference', they’d said.

Kimi’s posture changed into something contained and dangerous as the minutes flew by—shoulders set, jaw tight, motion efficient and brutal in its focus. 

Sebastians leg bounced faster, his heart pounding so loud he could barely even hear the game anymore. 

“Come on,” he whispered, almost like a prayer and a plea in one breath. “Come on. Come on. Please.” 

Seconds stretched, a minute became a lifetime. 

Every hit against the plexiglass, every scramble by the nets making him flinch like sound could bruise.

Kimi didn't hope over the boards when the line changed, staying out as a 'ice time' stopwatch appeared.

29:35:03

Which was definitely insane, even more so, Kimi didn't even look that tired.

His skates were still carving the ice precisely, control threaded with aggression, like he didn't know how to do anything else except try. 

Sebastian's hands were sweating around his phone.

Five minutes felt like fifty.

Six minutes felt like six hundred

And then—

Boston broke through. 

A shot, a deflection, a scramble that lasted half a second too long—

BUZZ

The puck went in.

And the horn sounded, and the echo of it hit Sebastian so suddenly it basically punched him in the face.

The crowd erupted into a wave so loud it stopped being noise and became weather.

Golden confetti began raining down, the universe celebrating directly at Dallas’s expense.

Boston players launched themselves into each other like gravity had turned off.

And Dallas—

Dallas just…stopped.

Sebastian went completely still, phone suddenly feeling too heavy in his hands.

The broadcast lingered on Kimi—helmet still on, shoulders rising and falling, stare unreadably blank in a way that made Sebastians eyes sting before he even blinked. 

The camera caught the Cup presentation, Boston's captain raising it overhead, silver bright and cruel as a knife under the arena lights.

Sebastian swallowed.

The air felt like it had been pulled from the room and left him with nothing but the sound of celebration happening to someone else. 

He didn't turn the stream off.

He should've. 

For sleep. His sanity. For the simple act of not voluntarily watching the Cup get lifted by someone else on a night that wasn't his to lose.

But his thumb just wouldn't do it. 

He sat there in the hotel's soft, polite half-dark, phone heavy in his hands and duvet still pooled around his waist like a weak attempt at restraint. 

The mini-fridge hummed and somewhere down the hall, an elevator pinged with a little chime of meaningless normal life.

On screen, Boston was still celebrating. 

Dallas was already turning toward the tunnel.

Sebastian sighed, throat tight as he forced his finger to tap 'exit' on the stream.

He didn't feel angry at Boston, that would've been stupid, they'd won fairly. He wasn't even angry at hockey, crazy because the sports entire deal seemed to be ‘what if we made pain a hobby in more ways than one.’ 

He felt…stuck.

Like there was a thread stretched across the ocean and he was holding it with both hands, waiting for the tug back that meant Kimi was still on the other end.

His phone dimmed.

He tapped it awake again immediately, as if the brightness was oxygen.

He didn't text.

He didn't want to be the first noise this time.

Kimi would call. 

But because Seb knows now, after months and months—that on nights that were too loud, too full of people, obligations and expectations—Kimi would leave it all.

He’d find a hallway.

He’d find Sebastian.

So Seb stayed up.

He sat there with his back against the headboard, phone in hand, eyes unfocused as he sat in the dim of his hotel room.

His body tried to crash—adrenaline draining out, exhaustion rushing in like it had been waiting outside the door. 

He didn't let it.

He listened to the hotel.

The tiny clicks of the water pipes. The steady, righteous buzz of air conditioning pretending it wasn't keeping him company. He watched the clock on the nightstand turn over.

Minutes sliding past slowly.

Then—

His phone buzzed.

Once.

Then again, like it was impatient with his reaction time.

Incoming call.

Kimi.

Sebastian hit ‘answer’ instantly.

The call connected—hollow echoes, distant voices blurred by distance, the clatter of something being tossed onto the floor. A building still awake because it had to be.

Kimi’s voice came through, quieter than usual.

“Hey,” Kimi said, edges rough and worn. 

“Hey,” Sebastian echoed, soft, instinctively matching the weight of it.

A beat.

“We lost,”

Sebastian closed his eyes for half a second, the words landing like a weight.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I watched.”

Another beat.

Kimi exhaled. Not a sigh exactly—more like letting air out because holding it in was pointless.

“Right.”

Seb didn’t rush to fill it.

He stayed still against the headboard, phone warm in hand, duvet still pooled heavily at his waist like it was trying to keep him from doing something stupid—like trying to teleport across the ocean on willpower alone. 

On the other end, there were far off voices, a door opening and closing, skates clicking somewhere distant like punctuation.

Kimi didn’t sound devastated in a dramatic way. More in a worn down to the bone kind of way. Like the loss had sanded him smooth. 

“For a second.” Kimi said after a moment, flat as ever. “I thought we had it.”

Seb’s throat tightened.

“I know,” he said, because it was true. “Me too” 

A quiet beat.

“You were out there forever.” Seb added, lowly. "Once overtime started, I think it said thirty minutes."

Kimi made a small sound—agreement maybe, or just the friction of reality against his teeth.

“Yeah.” he said, and then, like he was forcing himself to keep it clean and factual because that was how he survived things, added. “Overtime fucked us though. Bad.”

Sebastian’s fingers tightened around his phone case.

He could still see it when he closed his eyes—the scrambles, the half-seconds, the way the puck stopped being just a puck and turned into a verdict.

“The broadcast kept finding you,” Seb said, softer. “ Like you were—“ 

Like you were the story they wanted to tell. 

Like they were the one they’d decided it would hurt the most to zoom in on.

He didn’t say that, of course not.

Kimi's breath came through the line, quiet, controlled—measured. “I know.”

A beat.

Then sharper—still Kimi, still contained steady, but with an aggravated edge Sebastian hadn’t heard before.

“They’re always saying shit.”

Seb blinked, eyes opening. “The commentators?”

“Mhm,” A pause. “They always…talk like it’s so easy. Like ‘he should’ve done this’ or 'he could've done that'—“ Kimi’s voice went flatter, which somehow made it worse. “Like they’re the ones in the game, like they're me..” 

Sebastian’s mouth tilted into a grim, helpless little smile—fondness and anger twisted together into something hot.

He could picture Kimi catching pieces of it, over arena speakers, small choruses of opinions that tend to come for you in the sports world.

“Thats—“ Seb exhaled. “I get that. It’s like that for us too.”

“I know,” Another beat. “I hate it.” 

Sebastian’s chest tightening, not because Kimi was exaggerating—he wasn't—but because he was letting Seb hear the irritation instead of filing it away and swallowing it down alone. 

Seb shifted against the headboard, duvet rustling, hotel air too clean and too still. 

“They were doing that thing,” he said carefully, “Where they build a myth while you're still breathing.” 

Kimi didn't answer right away—just movement filling in from his end.

A door, a muffled voice that sounded like someone trying to be gentle and failing because the night was too loud and too harsh for gentleness. 

Then Kimi said, quiet and blunt:

“I wanted it,”

Sebastian felt his mouth tug into a frown. 

“For the team. For everyone,” 

Seb swallowed. “Yeah,”

A pause—one of those moments that used to make Sebastian reach for a joke or a tease—anything to keep the air from getting too open.

Now he just stayed, let the quiet be what it was. 

Kimi’s voice dropped another fraction, like he'd stepped deeper into a hallway. 

“And I wanted you to see it.”

Sebastians heart did stuttered, kicking out of rhythm so hard it might be classified as a cardiac emergency. 

Which would've been funny if it happened at any moment that wasn't this one—where the dark overtook the light. 

He swallowed, slowly, trying to make room for the sentence without breaking it. 

“I did,” Seb said, voice quiet. “I saw all of it,”

A beat.

He could hear Kimi breathing on the other end—close enough that it didn't feel like an ocean between them anymore. The line almost being pulled so tight to the point it made a tunnel out of distance. 

“I'm really sorry,” Seb said, and it came out simple. No joke. No attempt to sand the edges down into something easier to hold. “I know it would've meant a lot to win it.”

Kimi didn't argue, not after admitting what he had.

He just let it sit there between them, mutually acknowledged.

“Yeah,” Kimi said, rougher than before. “It's…annoying.”

Sebastians mouth curled up faintly—fondness trying to show up even here, even now.

Because Kimi calling the worst night of his season ‘annoying’ was the most Kimi thing for him to do. 

“Thats one word for it,” Seb murmured. 

Another beat.

The background on Kimi’s side shifted—voices closer now., the echo changing like he'd moved or someone had moved toward him.

A distant laugh that sounded too sharp to be genuine. The squeak of shoes and the clatter of gear. 

Kimi didn't comment on any of it.

He just said, quieter, like he was talking to Seb and only Seb even if the whole world was yelling around him:

“I didn't want to talk to them.”

Sebastians chest tightened.

Because that.

That was the oldest pattern between them at this point.

The same one from Shanghai. The same one from that hallway call in Milton Keynes. The same one from hotels and time zones over months and months. 

You're my after.

Seb pressed his head back against the wooden bed frame, eyes on the ceiling he'd been staring at for hours to the point he might burn a hole in the paint. 

“I'm here,” he said, and it wasn't something he even had to think about. 

It was just true—a promise even.

Kimi exhaled and for a second it sounded like he might say something else—something that had been hovering under his tongue, behind his teeth, ever since the moment Sebastian picked up.

The pause lasted longer this time.

Like Kimi was choosing his next words carefully, the way you do when something truly mattered. 

Seb's thumb rubbed the edge of his phone case, slow and grounding—like if his hands kept busy his heart would behave. 

“Kimi?” Seb asked, softly.

A shift, a breath.

“Mhm.”

Sebastian hesitated for less than a second, then went for honesty without making it a thing—because he'd come to learn you could do that with Kimi.

Say something true and not drown in how heavy it is or isn't.

“I'm really glad you called me,” he said.

Another beat.

And then, quietly:

“Nothing else I’d rather do,”

Sebastian doesn't think he’d ever heard his heart pound this loudly before. Skipping and tripping like it was trying to jump through the phone and reach the one on the other end. 

The quiet settled like a blanket they both knew how to share.

Across the line, Kimi’s voice got closer, lower again—like he'd turned his shoulder to the hallway and made his own small sliver of air.

“When this calms down,” Kimi started.

Seb's breath caught—small, sudden.

Or maybe it was his heart that did it.

“When I'm back home,” Kimi corrected and the pause after ‘back’ felt loaded in a way that made Sebastian's stomach flip, warm and nervous all at once. “In Dallas.”

Seb didn't move.

He might've not even blinked.

He just listened like his body already knew what was coming. 

Kimi's next words didn't come immediately.

He sounded like he was about to say something and then decided to rethink it—like the sentence was too exposed to the air, too easy to get ruined by timing. 

“I–,” he tried again.

And then, faintly but clear, a voice in the background cut through.

Someone called Kimi’s name. 

A pause.

His name again, closer.

Seb heard the shift—Kimi turning his head, the tiny scrape of something—a shoe, a skate maybe—the way a hallway suddenly got wider when someone stepped into it.

Kimi exhaled through his nose and Seb could hear the strain under it anyway—the annoyance, the exhaustion, the ‘I don't want to go back in there.’ 

“I have to go,” Kimi said.

Seb swallowed.

“Okay,” he said immediately because he wasn't going to be another demand on this night. “That's okay.”

Another beat—so small but it held everything. 

Kimi came back, urgent in the calmest way possible. “I wanted to tell you something,”

Sebastians pulse jumped, air in his lungs went too thin.

He had a feeling of what that was—he'd been carrying that possibility in his pocket for a while now—but now it was out loud.

And that made things feel real in a different way.

Sebastian didn't push though—didn't ask, didn't try to trap it in the open where it could bolt.

He just gave the space to choose it.

“I–Okay,” Seb said softly.

A muffled voice again—closer now, impatient.

Kimi’s breath hit the mic, like he'd shifted the phone tighter against his shoulder. 

“Now now,”” he said, like he hated the timing just as much as Sebastian did. “But…I will. I promise.”

Seb's chest warmed so fast it hurt.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he said, simple, as far from his usual dramatics as any words out of his mouth could get. 

A pause.

And then Kimi—quiet, blunt and so steady it made Sebastian stomach float—

“I know,”

It landed the way everything from him landed—a steady hand on the back of his neck, warm and certain in the best way. 

“Ill text you later,” Kimi said, firmly.

Seb's mouth tilted, helpless.

“Yeah.” he breathed. “Go. Talk later”

A final beat—breathing, distance and the line stretched tight.

“Talk later,” Kimi replied.

The call ended.

Sebastian stared at the dark screen in his hands, phone suddenly too light now that the weight of Kimi’s voice was gone. 

The hotel room hadn't changed.

The mini-fridge still hummed like it was sentient. The air conditioner still pretended it wasn't keeping him company.

The hurt was still there—Dallas losing, Kimi losing, the cruelty of a season ending in someone else's confetti. 

But underneath it, steady and persistent, there was something else now.

Something inevitable.

Something tucked into months of texts, voice notes and calls, waiting to be said out loud once the promise was fulfilled. 

Sebastian exhaled slowly, the sound coming out more like a half laugh half disbelief.

And then—because he was still Seb, even when he was trying to be chill about it—he pressed the phone to his forehead for one second and murmured:

“Shit,”

Not panic—absolutely not.

Just awareness.

Because he knew what i meant.

He just had to wait long enough to hear Kimi say it. 

July, Year 1.5

Hungaroring, Hungary

The hotel corridor smelled like amber air freshener trying too hard to be neutral and the faint ghost of someone's expensive cologne from earlier, like the walls had absorbed the entire dinner crowd and were still deciding what to do with it. 

Sebastian walked in with his jacket in his hands, wrinkled in surrender.

His cheeks still felt warm from the team dinner—champagne toasts, laughter, being looked at like the center of the night.

Not that he minded, he liked attention and it was his birthday, he was freshly twenty-two, alive and winning races—life really didn't get better then that.

Still, he'd been absently counting down the walk back to his room like it was a cool down lap.

The carpet softened his steps. Somewhere behind a door, a TV murmured in Hungarian. The air-conditioning hummed with righteous purpose.

The whole place had that clean, hotel-sleep vibe—where everything was a little too quiet, a little too polished, and a little too like sound was something you had to request at reception. 

Hungary was out there beyond the glass windows—velvet black, city lights smeared like gold and the night pretending it never slept. 

Sebastian was fishing his keycard out of his pocket when a hotel worker appeared out of literally nowhere in the hallway, dressed like a magicians assistant. 

“Mr. Vettel?” he asked, polite and careful. 

Seb blinked. “Uh–yes?”

The worker held out a box—not huge or anything but it was longer than it was wide.

It was clean white cardboard sealed with one of those understated stickers that screamed ‘this cost money on purpose’.

“This was delivered for you earlier.”

Sebastian stared at the box like it might bite. “For…me?”

“Yes, sir.”

The worker extended it a bit farther.

Seb took it automatically with the ease of someone who constantly accepted things from strangers with a smile.

The box was cool under his fingers, like it's been waiting in an air-conditioned room for a while. Something inside shifted when he shook it gently—paper maybe, a quiet crispy rustle. 

“Thank you,” he said, because he was a functional adult sometimes and because he was definitely not about to stand in a hotel hallway at almost ten p.m. looking like a confused retriever.

The worker nodded and disappeared again, leaving Seb alone with the box and a sudden spike of curiosity that hit harder than any champagne toast had. 

He didn't even go inside. 

He just crouched against the wall outside his door like a weirdo, jacket pooled in his lap, and lifted the lid slowly.

Sebastian didn't know what he expected, but it definitely wasn't—

Sunflowers.

Big ones too, bold and stupidly cheerful—like they had no respect for hotel lighting or post-hockey season grief. Their faces tilted toward the corridor lights as if they were trying to start a conversation.

The scent hit him next—green, fresh and slightly sweet with that florist-water smell underneath it.

Not overwhelming but just enough to make the corridor feel less sterile.

A small card was tucked between the little suns, white, typed with some florist logo in Hungarian that he could absolutely not read.

Sebastians stomach did a quick little flip.

He pulled the card free, thumb smudging the edge, and flipped it over.

The words sat there in simple font, no flourish, which somehow made them worse.

Sebastian stared at it for a full second like they'd rearranged the oxygen in the corridor.

Then he laughed—quiet, helpless and ridiculously fond.

“Of course,” he murmured to the flowers, to the card, hell to the entire hallway of doors. “Of course you’d write something like that,”

Warmth spread through his ribs the way it always did now—immediate, steady, like a hand pressed gently to his chest.

He lifted his phone and took a picture.

Then another.

Then another because the first one was blurry from his stupid grin and the fact that his hands were—slightly—shaking. 

As if on cue, his screen lit up.

Sebastian finally stood, keycard lifted to the lock.

The door blinked green and clicked open.

Inside, his room was warm in that hotel way—too clean, too quiet, the air smelling faintly like linen spray and the soaps he currently has living in the bathroom.

A strip of city light slipped through the curtains and cut the carpet into a soft amber. 

He carried the box and flowers carefully, like they were fragile and set them on the desk. The paper crinkled softly against the wood. 

Then he stood there for a beat too long, just looking.

As if the flowers were proof that this was real. 

That he hadn't imagined months of calls, texts and the way the quiet in his life had slowly stopped feeling like a threat.

His phone sat heavy in his hand—heartbeat bright, loud and eager, similar to the air before a race starts when you know you're ready and also deeply aware that something is about to change. 

He hit call.

It rang once.

Twice—

Kimi picked up. “Hey,”

Seb exhaled, the sound coming out light. “Hi,”

He could hear Dallas in the background only in the most subtle ways—an air-conditioner hum, the giant echo of a space bigger than a hotel room, maybe the soft click of something being set down.

Kimi at home, not moving through hallways, airports or hockey buses from hell.

That alone felt like a gift.

“You got them,” Kimi said. 

“I got them,” Seb echoed, pacing because his body needed motion to keep his emotions from climbing out of his skin and setting the building on fire.“You do realize you've created a problem.”

“What problem”

“The problem where I’m going to stare at these for the next three days and forget Im a very serious racing driver.” Seb glanced at the flowers like they might snitch. “I have an image to maintain!”

“Your image is already ruined.” Kimi replied. “Might as well embrace it.”

Seb laughed, because yeah.

And because Kimi’s voice had that effect—it cut straight through the buzz and landed him back in his body like flipping a switch.

“I should've known you'd say that,” Seb said, grinning as he leaned back against the desk. “And you're also right. Tragically.”

A beat.

On the wooden surface, the sunflowers caught the soft ambient lights like they were hoarding it.

Sebastian’s fingers brushed the edge of a petal—soft, cool, a little unreal—like he needed to physically feel the textures of his life at the moment.

“So,” he tried, aiming for casual and landing somewhere around ‘failing but with effort’. “How long have you been…planning this?”

“Today,” Kimi said.

“Oh.”

“I asked,” Kimi corrected, dry.

Sebs eyebrows shot up. “You asked someone to send me flowers?”

“Yes. How else.”

“You,” Seb said, delighted and a little stunned. “Called a flower shop in Hungary. Requested this. And then had it delivered to my hotel.”

Kimi exhaled—a laugh, soft. “It wasn't that hard.”

“No?”

A pause—just long enough to be honest.

“Maybe a little.” Kimi admitted. “But it was worth it.”

Sebs grin softened. 

He turned his head toward the window on the far end of the room, city light casting strips on the carpet. The spaced suddenly felt smaller—not horribly, but full. Like the air itself had folded and changed shape.

He didn't rush to fill it, neither did Kimi.

But when Kimi did speak again, his voice was lower—careful but not hesitant. 

“After the Final,” Kimi said. “I promised to tell you something.”

Sebastians heart leaped, rhythm picking up speed.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I remember.”

Another beat.

“I didn't say it then because it wasn't the right moment.”

Sebastian let out a small huff of a laugh, because of course Kimi would respect timing like it was a rule written into a sports book.

"You were also in a hallway, being terrorized by Boston and getting hunted by your teammates.”

“Mhm”

“And now you're at home.”

“Yes,”

Sebastian glanced down at the flowers, their faces turned toward him like they were listening. 

Kimi’s voice stayed steady—and that steadiness was almost worse than drama, because it meant he’d decided. 

“I don't want to do this halfway,” Kimi said.

Seb’s pulse stumbled.

“I like what we have,” Kimi continued, blunt in the way he always was. “The calls. The stupid stuff. The quiet.”

Sebastians fingers curled tighter around his phone like it could anchor him to the desk.

“But,” Kimi said, the single word heavy as a door closing. “It's not just that.”

“Yeah,” Seb swallowed. "It's...not."

On the desk, the card sat there like a dare.

Kimi’s voice softened a fraction—not poetic but honest enough to feel like it was being placed carefully in Seb’s hands. 

“I think about you,” Kimi admitted. “All the time.”

Sebastian's stomach dipped—relief and delight hitting so hard it was almost physical. 

“I can't stop.” Kimi added, and it wasn't said like a complaint or a burden—but a fact.

Seb’s laugh came out shaky and bright, like if a short circuit had an audible sound. 

“You cant just say things like that,” Seb whispered, then hated how it came out like a protest, and corrected it just as fast and just as softly. “I mean—wait, you can. Please do actually. Keep going.”

Kimi paused and Sebastian could practically hear the smile happening somewhere near his mouth.

Then, simple as gravity,

“And when something happens,” Kimi said, “You're the first person I want. Not because I’m sad or happy or whatever. Just…it feels right.”

Seb pressed the palm of his hand to his mouth, eyes wide, smile out of control. 

Then, Kimi said, clean as ever: 

“I want to be more than this,”

Sebastian stared at the carpet. 

Then at the flowers.

Then back at the carpet like the room might give him points for composure. 

He should say something smart.

Something normal for what was basically a heartfelt confession.

Instead, because he was still him—nothing like that came out. 

What did was a breathy, disbelieving sound that was definitely not cool.

“Oh, Thank god,”

A beat. 

“...Yeah?” Kimi asked, like he was trying very hard not to laugh. 

Sebastian dropped his hand from his mouth, still smiling like an idiot because he couldn't fucking stop it.

“Yes,” he said, words spilling out because once he started he didn't really do breaks. “Yeah. Because I have been—well—trying to be normal, which is already difficult for me, and you sending me loaded sunflowers to my hotel room, on my birthday is not helping—”

“They're just flowers,” Kimi said, deadpanned. 

“They are definitely not just flowers,” Seb argued instantly, pointing at the bustle like  Kimi could see through the phone. “They're a statement. They’re practically yelling ‘romantic comedy’ at me in highlighter!”

Kimi laughed, soft and real.

Sebastians heart did a deeply stupid flip. 

He took a breath after a second, letting himself go quieter because this mattered and Kimi had chosen to say it like he meant it.  

“But I—yeah. I want that too.” Sebastian said, voice dripping into honesty. “I want…more. I just—“ he swallowed, words catching on the truth. “I didn’t want to ruin anything by grabbing it too early—or worse, too hard.”

“You won’t,” Kimi immediately said.

Sebastian’s shoulders loosened like they'd been held up for longer than he realized. 

“Right,” Sebastian whispered, the words feeling like relief. And because he couldn't help himself added, “So. What does more even…look like? Because I honestly have no idea other than…vibes.”

Kimi let out a soft huff. “It can be whatever we want.” 

Whatever we want

Seb’s smile went slow.

He glanced at the card again, at the ‘keep a little quiet for me.’

At how Kimi had already been asking for space in Seb's life for. a while and Sebastian had been letting him without realizing it was something to choose.

“So we do the same things.” Seb thought out loud, “Same calls. Same texts. But stop pretending this is just…casual?”

“Yeah,” Kimi said, simple. 

“Cool. Great. Yeah.” Seb exhaled, sounding like a laugh and a surrender at the same time. 

Then, because he couldn’t leave anything un-teased and always had to poke at things:

“So does this mean I can call you my long-distance hockey boyfriend now?” 

Another beat.

Then, perfectly calm, Kimi said: “That’s a long name.”

Seb barked out a laugh, delighted. “Maybe. I’ll probably have to shorten it.” 

“Call me whatever you want,” Kimi said.

Sebastian’s stomach did a very dignified front flip anyway, small warmth creeping up his neck. 

“Okay,” Seb said quietly, smiling so hard it might just be stuck there permanently. “Then…boyfriend. Hi."

Kimi huffed a laugh. “Hey.”

Seb stared at the flowers like they might start applauding them.

“Jesus christ,” he said, breathless and delighted to hell. “You’ve given me too much power. I’m going to be so annoying about this now.”

“Good.”

The line went quiet again.

Comfortable.

Chosen. 

And Sebastian—still staring at the sunflowers like proof—didn’t rush to fill it.

For once, he didn’t feel the need to. 

He just breathed, and let the quiet feel like what it’s supposed to feel like.